Just Ice, I Have Pink Hair but I Don't Speak Spanish
by marisa lee
Summary: AU where an extremely paranoid 23-year-old-Gumball tries out a strange new atmosphere at the insistence of his newlywed little sister, Fionna, to rid him of his social anxiety. Rated T for implied drug use. Mild slash


**a/n: **

**hello i have returned from the grave to bring you a (sort of) boylove fic i hope you enjoy it**

**also i have compiled a playlist that is REALLY GOOD to listen to while reading this:**

_rihanna - where have you been (vice club remix)_

_onerepublic - counting stars_

_david guetta - play hard_

_yolanda be cool & dcup - we speak no americano_

_pitbull - shake senora remix_

_darude - sandstorm_

_avicii - wake me up_

**i had to listen to 8 hours of club/dance pandora to crank this out for you guys and im so very glad i did so i hope you are too**

**ily all xoxo ~ml**

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_i don't own the songs mentioned or adventure time_

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**Just Ice, I Have Pink Hair but I Don't Speak Spanish**

The bar seemed normal enough, and with the exception of a few 'flamers' here and there who were eyeing me hungrily, it wasn't all too bad. I guess you can't avoid that pretty much anywhere you go. I'd learned long ago that making eye contact in public was a bad idea, but it's hard to find someone to talk to when you're avoiding everyone's face. Internally, I cursed my little sister for bringing me to such a place from the start. Fionna, in all her shining, newlywed glory, had grabbed my arm and practically shoved me into the real world. If not for her, I'd probably be at home reblogging hundreds of sad couple-y posts on Tumblr and eating cold pizza.

As I glanced lazily around the dark room, I kept reminding myself that I was only here because she made me come, but I mean, hey, there were a few cute guys standing around so maybe a couple of drinks couldn't hurt and oh, is this that new song by Rihanna? There were men and women swaying easily to the beat of the music; carelessly moving bodies flashed in red and blue and green lights on the dance floor. I had to admit it did look quite fun, but I wasn't nearly confident enough to give it a try. At the bar I had considered whether it was illegal to ride a bicycle while intoxicated, and settled on a glass of 7up for the time being. The bartender complimented my hair as he handed me my drink, and I ran my free hand through the bright pink locks with a smile in thanks.

Having a sip from the glass in my hand, I headed towards an empty corner and had a seat at the table. My heart and the song by Rihanna thumped in my ears and I had a silent panic attack about what I was going to say if someone tried to talk to me. Perhaps all alone in this corner nobody would see me and I could just fade into the wallpaper and I could tell Fionna I had a fantastic time 'blending in' with the crowd. But there were two problems with that solution: First, she would never believe me if I told her that. Second, and I'm not trying to toot my own horn or anything, but I should have figured that a young pink-haired man in a pair of too-tight white jeans and a navy spread-collar polo sitting all alone in a corner was bound to attract at least some attention.

I was only about six and a half minutes into sipping my 7up and avoiding peoples' stares when I was actually approached.

"You're new here," a voice said from behind my ear, and I turned to see a man with dangerous eyes and a killer smile sit down beside me. I cursed myself for making eye contact right away, but at the same time I thanked myself, because he had the most gorgeous eyes I had ever seen. His head was covered in thick locks of midnight hair that brushed the nape of his neck and waved down to below his handsomely unshaven chin.

He watched me nod in response, and I had to look away and take a sip of my drink to prevent myself from drooling. I studied his shoes, red cowboy boots with a cream design along the sides. His jeans were skinny and torn and he wore a red button-up shirt that was cuffed at the elbows.

"There's no way you're gonna make any friends sitting all alone in the corner," he said with a devilish smirk.

I looked down at the floor and replied, "I was able to capture your attention."

He didn't respond right away but I still didn't look up at him. I was afraid that if I looked into those gorgeous eyes again I would melt right there on the floor and I didn't really feel like causing a scene. Fionna would never let me leave the house again. Or maybe even make me do it more often. So instead, I studied his long slender fingers as they drummed against the tabletop.

"That you did," he told me after a pause. "I think it was the hair."

I ran my hand through my hair once again, the only reaction I could ever come up with when given a compliment. I was cautious. Did I trust him? Did I trust anyone? My eyes scanned the room again, suddenly in fear, and a million date rape stories flashed through my mind. The bar had suddenly become a murder scene, and I was next on the list. Gorgeous Eyes had accomplices all over the place, and they were all in on his plan to have away with me.

Suddenly I wasn't sure my 7up was safe anymore. I pushed the beverage away from me and shoved my hands between my thighs to keep from reaching for it. For some reason I couldn't find the courage to get up and run, specifically out of fear that I'd look like a complete idiot.

"What's your drink?" he asked me. I could hear the smirk in his voice and a wave of fear rippled through my spine.

"7up."

"Interesting choice, what's in it?"

I swallowed hard. "Um, ice?"

"Ever try it with Seagrams?" he asked. I opened my mouth to respond but no sound came out.

I felt his eyes leave my face and I thought it safe to look up again. My gaze followed his, settling on the DJ booth at the opposite end of the room.

I looked back at my companion, who was shoving his hands into his pockets. He stood without a word, without a glance at me, and left. Disintegrated into the crowd on the dance floor.

A sigh of relief escaped my throat. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath.

As I stared after his disappearing form on the dance floor, I almost forgot about my 7up. I pulled the glass close to me again. I didn't want anyone getting their hands on it. I took a long victory gulp of the drink, having just survived my first social interaction inside a gay bar. I made a mental note to tell Fionna later.

The lights started to flicker even faster and more intense as the music faded from a slow beat into electronica (did they turn the volume up?). My heart nervously skipped a beat at the thought of Gorgeous Eyes returning for another chat, but then I thought, hey, I survived my first attack, surely I could live through a second? I glanced fuzzily around the room once again (when had it gotten so hard to see in here?) and a chill rippled through my spine. I thought it might have been fear, though it could have been something else too. Excitement? Nausea? I took another large gulp of my 7up. When had I gotten so thirsty, for glob's sake?

I could feel the bass in my bones, in my arteries, and everywhere throughout my body. I couldn't fight the urge to get up and dance any longer. But wait, what was I saying? I didn't dance. I couldn't dance. At all. Without my permission, my knees straightened and I was standing up. My head felt light and I definitely couldn't see straight now. My hand reached for my drink and lifted it to my lips, downing the entire thing in a single swallow. The glass was lowered back to the table, and my hazy eyes found the dance floor once again.

Before I could take a step, the music again fused, this time into some sort of foreign language-type remix, and somewhere in the back of my mind I was wondering why nearly every club song was sung in Spanish or Italian or something, but it was too late to answer myself because I was already swaying in time to the music out on the dance floor in the middle of dozens of strangers. When had I gotten out there? What time was it? Did it matter? There was a fleeting moment when my mind screamed at me to get off the dance floor, get out of there, someone was going to touch me, it was not going to end well, it never was and this was a terrible idea Fionna curse you, but the feeling evaporated when I realized that everyone else on the floor was having as much fun as I was. Their bodies moved independent from each other, but all in the same synchronized rhythm. I matched my movements to theirs and completely lost myself in the music.

My arms waved around my own body, in the air, and all around. Bodies closed in on every side of me, but I didn't care. My claustrophobia was inactive for the moment, and Pit Bull was calling my name, even if I didn't speak Spanish. The room was spinning around in slow motion, and all I knew were my arms wrapped around myself and the bass thumping in my ears and my arms in the air… but were they around my waist or in my hair or out in front of me or touching the person in front or behind or to the left of me?

Yet another electronica song faded into Darude, and I summoned the strength to open up my eyes. When had I closed them? When had it gotten so hot in here? I reached up to touch my face, which was damp with sweat. I reached down and hugged the arms wrapped tight around my waist-how long had I been dancing with a stranger?

The expected heart attack never came and instead my body reacted to the fact that it was now dancing with another human being. His (I was assuming it was a male, judging by his strong grip and height comparison) arms wrapped tightly around my waist, his chin buried in the back of my neck at my collarbone, his body grinding up the whole of my back. Somewhere, dully, my mind screamed at me to get out of there, but my arms followed the swell of his biceps and my hands entangled themselves in his hair, which was long and rough. I could feel his scruffy chin tickling my neck and his fingers pulling my shirt out of my belt to caress my bare belly. I found his jaw and neck with my hands and his trailed lower still and my body was on fire with the sound of the beat in my ears and his hands... What the glob was going on?

As the song changed, somehow the stranger turned me around so I was facing him without increasing the distance between our bodies. His warm chest pressed against mine and I opened my eyes again (Why did I keep closing them?). Gorgeous eyes stared back at me, but not just any gorgeous eyes, these were the Gorgeous Eyes from earlier. My hands again found his hair and pulled his jaw closer to me. That smirk never left his face and his eyes glinted as his head dipped to tickle my neck with his scruffy face again.

The urge to press my mouth to his was becoming unbearable, and my mind screamed out in protest when I lifted his chin up and did exactly that. My brain exploded in my head when my lips came in contact with his unshaven mouth, or was that just the bass dropping? His response was an affirmative one; he kissed me back as if he'd been waiting all night for this moment. Our bodies continued to sway in sync with the music and each other. I let him take control, granting him full access to the recesses of my mouth. I had to pull away after a moment to breathe, though it seemed like he could have gone on for ages.

I leaned my head back and inhaled long and deep. Another song came on, this one by Avicii. A laugh escaped my lungs, an actual legitimate laugh. I couldn't remember a time when I was this elated before in my life. The lyrics sunk into my mind and I allowed my eyes to close again. I lifted my arms above my head and let the music carry me away.

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Fionna always ends up shrieking in my ear so I have to put my cell phone down on the edge of the washing machine as I finish up my laundry. My clothes from last night are caked in a layer of dried sweat and I grimace as I toss the navy polo into the wash.

"You can't remember _anything_ at all?!" my sister cries above the sound of her cat vacuuming loudly in the background. "And you're _okay_ with that?!"

I don't have much of a response for her as I've explained all of this to her many times before. I check the pockets of my white jeans.

"I'm not sure if I'm more proud or worried for you, Bubs," she tells me, and I just chuckle, because she's said this before, she wants more information but I can't offer her any, because like I said already, _I remember absolutely nothing at all_.

A scrap of paper brushes my fingers inside the pocket. I pull it out and study it. Scrawled on the back of what seems to be a receipt for H&M is a telephone number with the initials 'ML' after it.

"Hello? Bubba? Are you there? I said did you meet someone at least?"

I smile, "I think so," and I think at this moment I can remember a bit more than _absolutely_ nothing at all.

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_reviews will earn you pie_


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